A friend to save you
by Dragon's Wing
Summary: Zidane realizes he doesn't know who he is, and needs someone to help. Set before the game, it's my view on how Zidane and Freya may have met. PG just in case
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Zidane or any other Final Fantasy 9 character.

A/N: Inspiration hit and I started typing. This resulted. Set before the game, tells how Zidane and Freya became friends. It's not what I typically write, so reviews would help. Constructive criticism welcome. Flames are not.

Zidane sat on a cliff outside of Lindblum, gazing out onto the ocean. It was a strange thing to do. He never looked out at the ocean. But now, he felt drawn to it in a way. A strange way. No, that wasn't true. He knew why he was drawn to it. It was blue. Every bit of him longed for the ocean to be the blue light that filled his dreams. Any clue that would point him to who he was! No, that wasn't true either. Whenever he felt the need for knowledge pulling at him, sometimes smothering him, something told him ignorance was bliss, some little corner of his mind warned him that he wouldn't like what he saw. That little corner kept him sane.

His tail twitched as he mused over these thoughts. Usually he didn't even notice it, but now it bothered him. He grabbed it and tugged on it, mentally cursing it. His tail. Blasted thing. He could try and fit in as much as he wanted, he could have as many friends as he was possibly able, he could be part of Tantalus for the rest of time and his tail would keep him separate from everyone else, acting as an anchor, keeping him tied to his unknown past. It bound him to something he did not know. Stupid tail, he thought to himself as he tried vainly to toss it aside. A futile move. If only it could be tossed away so easily. 

Zidane turned away from his tail and looked back out at the sea. The waves, normally a clear blue, were now dyed an inky black from the night. The stars' reflection danced on the waves, almost tauntingly before their reflection was dashed against the rocks below as the water crashed against the cliff. It was only when a breeze brushed past him that he felt the wetness on his cheek. He brushed away the tear and drew his knees up to his chest, starting to feel cold. He could go back into town... but he wasn't ready to face Tantalus yet. They knew when something was wrong. They always knew. They were the closest thing he had to a family, but he knew they wondered too. He could see it. They wanted to know where he came from, who he was, WHAT he was... if only he could tell them. If only he knew.

Tears flowed freely now. He didn't care. He was alone. After this, he would collect himself, smile, and be the Zidane that everyone knew. Fun, mischievous.... he tired of it sometimes. It all became just a masquerade after a while. He needed times like these to let his feelings loose. Troubles like his would surely rip him apart from the inside if he kept them bottled inside for too long.

"Sir?"

The voice startled him. He hadn't heard any footsteps approach. Quickly he wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and turned around. A woman, a very odd looking woman, was standing there. She looked more like a rat than anything, with pointed ears and fur... even a tail. Zidane guessed that she was the dragoon he had heard about. He jumped to his feet.

"You are Master Zidane, yes?" the creature asked. She was very polite, he noted. Probably not out to kill him, then. Wouldn't have been the first time someone had tried to kill him. He thought back to an incident in Treno that happened recently... but certainly this person didn't work for the red-haired guard he had angered then...

"Who wants to know?" His words came out harsher than he meant. The person looked slightly offended, but collected herself.

"I believe there is a group in town looking for you. They are worried."

"So, the boss sent you out looking for me?" Again, his words had a sharp sarcastic edge to them.

"I was leaving Lindblum tonight. Since they also were ready to leave, I figured I could spare some time to look, and asked if they would like my help. Does this anger you?"

"Why would it anger me?"

"You seem to be angry at something."

Zidane recalled his harsh tone earlier and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to take it out on you. I........." he felt his voice begin to tremble and he turned away, sitting down again. To his utter surprise, however, the dragoon sat down next to him.

"Care to talk about it? It helps."

"About what? Nothing's wrong."

"You lie."

Zidane looked up, startled by the direct tone of the stranger's words. He tried to study her as best he could in the dark. She stared at him, not even doubting that he would answer. His natural instinct said to tell her to mind her own business. This was his problem. But he had kept it inside for too long. He told everything, about his past, about his tail, about Baku taking him in, about his lack of memory, about his search, about the blue light that he searched for. The stranger listened silently as he nearly poured out his very soul. When he finished, he looked at her, and she noted how his eyes searched for acceptance. He looked so very lost and alone. Finally, she spoke.

"You won't be content until you know your past, I can tell. But don't worry. You will find your past someday."

"You seem pretty sure of that."

"I am. I know it to be true." As she stood up and turned to walk away, he stood up and touched her shoulder. She turned back to him.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. She was right, it had helped to talk about it.

"Anytime," she said.

"But, why are you leaving Lindblum now? It's the middle of the night."

"I may ask the same question. A band of "performers" traveling in the middle of the night? Very odd." So. She suspected that Tantalus wasn't just a group of actors. He couldn't tell her that they were thieves, though, travelling at night, slipping wuietly in and out of cities. That would be telling too much.

"Fair enough," Zidane responded, letting the question drop. She could keep her secrets, he could keep his.

"Maybe we'll meet again under happier circumstances, Zidane."

"I look forward to it. Hey, what's your name, anyway?"

"Freya."

"Alright. Well... goodbye then, Freya."

"Goodbye, Zidane." She didn't walk away, to his surprise. She jumped. An odd thing he would learn to get used to in the coming years of their friendship. They would meet again under happier circumstances. Under worse ones, as well. But as for that moment, his mind was cleared of troubles about his past, and he was able to go back into town.

"Yo, Zidane," Blank said when he reached the inn. "Where'd you get off to?"

"I was just out thinkin'," Zidane replied.

"How touching. C'mon, let's go! Boss is waitin'!" Off to the future, then, with no time to look back for his past.


	2. Freya

Freya was alone. Not alone in the sense that no one is nearby, but the feeling of being completely and utterly deserted, the feeling that haunts you, the feeling that feeds on all positive emotions until you are left in the jaws of misery. Burmecia was empty, with all of its residents gathered in the palace, leaving her undisturbed. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want company. All they would have is pity, looking at her with sad eyes. She feared pity. It may have driven her over the edge. She kept to herself, then, slumped helplessly against a wall. Her long spear was cast carelessly aside, a habit that normally she would never have accepted as a proper warrior. But today, there was no point to it. Let it rust.

A funeral bell rang in the distance, sealing fate for her. Each low, deep tone reverberating through her mind. It seemed to ring endlessly, letting the world know that a Burmecian soldier was dead.

Yet once the ringing stopped, Freya wished it would have kept going. To have music, to hear people talk, even funeral bells were better than this silence. Silence meant her thoughts couldn't be diverted elsewhere, and to let them run rampant could only magnify grief.

But then, Freya realized, there was always the rain. This thought surprised her. Over the years, she had learned to ignore it, and it became part of everyday life. Not once did she think about it. But today, she noticed the rain. She looked up with almost childlike wonder, watching as each raindrop fell from the sky, cascading around her. Reaching out a hand, she stared in awe as raindrops splattered against her arm, soaking her clothes. _This must be why Burmecians don't cry, _she thought to herself. _The sky cries for them._

All of a sudden, she couldn't take it anymore. The gray sky, the cold rain, the empty streets suddenly pressed in on her. She couldn't live in this gloom anymore. Her home turned its back on her, no longer the inviting place it once was. She had lost the light that guided her through this darkness, and now it was gone. Dead... 

_No!_ Freya mentally screamed. It was impossible. _Fratley..._ It had to be a bad dream, and any minute now, she would wake up. But could she escape this nightmare alone? Seized by blind grief, she grabbed her spear and ran, springing over the wall with ease, and kept on going. Fueled by frustration and the fear of being alone, she ran, running as though she could escape loneliness. But even the fastest runner cannot leave behind loneliness...

She didn't top until finally her legs collapsed, weakened by lack of energy. She had nothing left. Grief and rage and hope and fear had taken their toll on her, eventually abandoning her. As she lay there, panting, she realized she was lost. But that was all right. She didn't want to go back. They would wonder where she was, and why she of all people wasn't at Fratley's funeral. Of all people, she should've been here. Yet she couldn't accept it. His funeral without anything to actually bury meant nothing to her. He couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead. She knew it. As she lay sprawled on the ground, cold earth pressing against her frantic heartbeat, she knew he wasn't dead. And she would search the world over until she found him. Finally, lying there, with no more energy or thoughts left to give, she closed her eyes and fell into sleep as night crept into the sky.

She awoke with something poking her in the back. By instinct alone, she sprang up and tackled it, pinning it to the ground, ready to attack whatever it was. She was surprised to see startled eyes looking back into her own. Whatever she had tackled groaned and closed its eyes, trying to get free. Realizing her mistake, she rolled quickly to her feet, offering a hand to the person. A gloved hand accepted hers, pulling itself up. She was met with the stare of a rather surprised person, whose messy blonde hair seemed awfully familiar...

"Zidane?"

"Freya?"

"What happened to you?" they both asked simultaneously. Reaching out, Freya touched Zidane's cheek, where a huge bruise had formed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tackle you," Freya whispered.

"No, no, this isn't from you," Zidane said, pulling away slightly from her hand and gingerly patting the bruise. As he pulled away, she became aware of several other bruises and cuts along his face and arms.

"What happened to you?" she asked, concern edging her words. She didn't know why she was so distressed with his affairs. After all, she had only met him once.

"Never mind," Zidane said, forcing her to sit down beneath a tree. "You look like you've been to hell and back." His words weren't sarcastic, rather honestly worried for her. Despite herself, Freya laughed bitterly. 

"Perhaps I have," she said simply. Her run from Burmecia had left her wild thoughts gone, leaving her only with the tranquil emptiness that follows such rages. Hell and back. It seemed to summarize it well.

"Anything I can do?"

"I wouldn't burden you with it."

"Go right ahead," Zidane invited. Freya looked over at him. Though he was beaten, he looked as though he really wanted to help. Odd. She didn't even know him all that well. Fear, though, stopped her from revealing anything more, in case she would bring up any unwanted memories.

"Where are we?" she asked, dodging the question. 

"Just outside Alexandria," Zidane informed her. 

_Did I run that far?_ "Oh..." Freya whispered. Zidane winced as he leaned against the tree, finally getting into a position that didn't cause too much pain. There was a silence, and it became clear that Zidane wasn't going to leave until he knew she was all right. Maybe that's why she took to him so easily. He looked out for her, and they had only met once before...

"They had a funeral in Burmecia yesterday," Freya began. Her throat suddenly became very dry, but she took a deep breath to regain confidence. "They buried the love of my life." Love. It was a word that once rolled easily off of her tongue, and now it stayed, feeling awkward to pronounce. It was as though love had revoked her rights to it, and she supposed that was true. _Fratley..._

"I'm sorry," Zidane said, avoiding her eyes.

"Don't be. He's not dead," Freya said, without any hesitation in her voice. Zidane turned and met her gaze. She noticed his puzzled look.

"He's been gone for years... so... they had a funeral without his body. But he's not dead. I know."

"You're sure?" Zidane said. She was unaware of whether he was speaking out of pity or really believed her. She realized she didn't look credible, with her eyes red and puffy, dirt smearing her wrinkled clothes.

"I'm sure," Freya said with as much confidence as she could gather.

"Well then, come on," Zidane said, jumping up and looking for all the world like a five-year-old about to go on a scavenger hunt.

"What?"

"We're going to go find him!" Zidane said, ready to take off at any minute.

"No, **I'm**going to find him." Freya said, standing up. Zidane looked slightly disappointed.

"I can help, you know..." he offered. He had become very different from the lost Zidane she met outside of Lindblum. She supposed he had recovered now, for a while anyway, and he really wanted to help.

"This is my quest, one that I feel only I must take. To burden other people would be wrong."

"Are you sure you want to be alone?"

"No, and that's the reason why I'm going on this quest."

"I don't understand." There was a silence for a while, an awkward pause turning into a slow, silent crawl.

"Won't your theatre troupe miss you?" Freya finally said. She noticed that Zidane's hand automatically flew to his face, covering the bruise on his cheek. Freya's eyes darkened. "Can't be a very good troupe if that's what they do to you."

"I messed up, so I decided to leave... and the boss..." Zidane trailed off, unable to explain it without giving away too much about Tantalus. Baku always beat him when he left. It wasn't the first time, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. Freya motioned for him to be silent and handed him a potion.

"Drink," she ordered. He did, and he closed his eyes, the magic causing his to glow briefly. His cuts faded, his bruises vanished.

"Thanks," Zidane said, looking even more energetic than before. "Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?

"Quite sure."

"All right then," he nodded. "Good luck."

"And the same to you." They turned and walked different ways, wondering what fate had in store for them next.

A/N: I feel I am waaayyy out of my genre with this one. I decided to write this other chapter due to all my reviews asking for one, but I must say I'm truly unhappy with this. Please, constructive criticism is a valuable tool; anything you have along those lines is always welcome. And if I'm just being daft and he story is good and you want more, you can say that too. I've changed my mind, by the way. Flames are accepted too. So review! I need feedback if I expect to improve... 


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